


8 Seconds

by themonkeycabal



Series: Run 'Verse [25]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Darcy Lewis is Tony Stark's Daughter, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6948331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themonkeycabal/pseuds/themonkeycabal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sixty-nine years, one-hundred eleven days, and eight seconds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	8 Seconds

Time travel via dicey Hydra devices powered by alien technology did not get easier with experience. If anything, it might have been even more disorienting the second time.

Darcy didn't remember her arrival home. There was certainly security video of the event, but she didn't want to watch herself vomiting and wildly delirious while her father tried to hold her steady. Apparently it took both Tony and Thor to get her up to the medical suite and she fought them every step — Thor was impressed enough that he told her _all_ about that part.

When the immediate reaction to the arrival passed, Darcy spent the next 61 hours unconscious.

The headache was waiting when Darcy finally woke; the sick, throbbing pressure she remembered from her first trip. But, this time when her body jerked awake, and she opened her eyes, she saw a room she was far too familiar with, saw the monitors, the IV, the pulse/ox monitor on her finger. She found a happier sight when she could move again — her father next to her bed, asleep in a chair, his head tilted back awkwardly, snoring lightly. He was, honestly, the best thing she'd ever seen. He woke a second later and then he started yelling for Bruce until she desperately shushed him. Yelling bad. Yelling hurt.

And then Tony fussed, Bruce fussed, Pepper fussed, Jane fussed. Oh Jane! Jane was okay, Jane was fine, and safe, and Darcy was so overwhelmed she couldn't do more than mumble a few words to anybody. The sensory input, the emotional surge, was too much and her headache spiked, her stomach cramping along with it, and she spent a half-hour heaving into a basin Bruce hastily shoved into her hands.

Yeah, coming back was worse. Clearly the human body, or her body at least, had a pretty limited tolerance for tesseract travel. It wasn't fun. The Bifrost was a kiddie ride by comparison.

Through the morning people came in and out to see her. The familiar faces of home, the same as they ever were — thank you, Howard. If her head didn't threaten to explode every time she moved, she could have cried. For a while Clint stood at the foot of her bed and made bad jokes, trying to get her to laugh, but she couldn't manage it and her mood was too sour to appreciate it. As hard as the trip was on her body, her head was turning out to be so much worse. And she didn't meant the headache.

Her brain felt like it had been turned inside out and scrambled. It was difficult to think past the jumble of memories, emotions, and disoriented observations. So much worse than the first time. For a second she considered trying to smother herself under her pillow. It didn't work; Tony wouldn't let her.

It took a few hours for the headache, nausea, and confusion to settle a little. Pepper sat on the bed, holding her through it.

At the edge of her confusion, a jittery frisson of desperation clawed its way to the surface, and Darcy managed to scrape together enough coherence to tell her dad to secure the box and destroy it. It was a strong sign of how worried he was that he didn't even ask any questions, just hopped off to do as she asked. Relieved with that off her mind, at least, she slumped back against Pepper and dozed off.

Darcy slept off and on through the day and the night, and woke the next morning feeling physically better, but her head was still a swirling, cluttered mess. She remembered being fuzzy for a few days the first time, but she'd originally attributed that to travel sickness and general 'wait I'm _when_?' confusion and disorientation. But, now she was starting to think it was more profound than that; a scary physiological effect of the tesseract energy on her brain. Darcy liked her brain, the thought of alien energy messing with it was damned unsettling.

So unsettling even, that she didn't complain the littlest bit when Bruce and Tony put her through a ridiculous battery of scans and tests. But after half a day of looking, both concluded that they couldn't find anything wrong. It was odd to feel both happy and not happy about that, and the three of them fell into a weird, awkward silence until Bruce ran down what they did know. There were signs of some heightened brain activity, but that tapered off through the day, and an electrolyte imbalance that was corrected with an IV of fluids. He couldn't account for either, really. A weird misty light and then a bump on the head didn't give them much to go on. His first thought had been a chemical weapon, like a neurotoxin or something, but none of her symptoms fit and samples taken in the lobby didn't turn up anything.

Tony eyed her silently, the lines on his face carved deep with anxiety. She held his hand, or let him hold hers. Whichever.

With nothing to go on, and nothing to fix, Bruce finally had to let her go, but only after ordering rest and daily checkups for a few days. Darcy easily agreed, because there was another after effect of time travel she hadn't expected — she felt weirdly disconnected from her own time.

Before she could work through her experiences, or talk to anybody about them, she needed time for _time_ to stop feeling so strange. Being back in the future was more jarring than she expected it to be, and she had to focus on that before she could even start to process anything else. Bruce's order to rest gave her an excuse to have some time to herself away from the people concerned about her. She loved them for that concern, but she was overloaded.

Things that she grew up with, things that should have been as familiar to her as her own reflection, were suddenly strange. The first time her phone chimed with a text she was confused and couldn't honestly remember how to respond for a good, solid minute. Her clothes felt weird on her body. She found herself searching out the 40s channel on satellite radio and listing to Benny Goodman while she read or made notes about her experiences (with pen and paper) in the evening. It was a couple more days before she had any impulse to reach for her tablet or computer.

For three and a half months she'd been driven in this goal, to get home, to get back where she belonged. However, now back, it was surprisingly hard to get her head out of the habits acquired in 1946. How weird to have some sort of mild culture shock to her own home.

The strangeness eventually bled away, immersion bringing her back to her world, and normality returned. When she could talk to Jarvis without first looking for him, when she could use the microwave without having to walk herself through each step, when she shoved her phone in her pocket without thinking, then she was finally ready to pick through the bits and pieces in her head, put it all into some sort of context. And the first thing she needed to do was make good on her promise to Peggy Carter.

Except Steve, Tony, and Coulson thought the first thing she should do was make a freaking report. And they were damned pests about it. So, she did. She wrote a very short, technically correct, and painfully bland report. In it she described the Hydra soldiers, described the attack, and then described how she fell down and hit her head. The end. It was a page and a half. Double-spaced.

Nobody was happy with that. Coulson told her so over the phone in his 'not joking' Director voice he'd only used on her a couple of times. When she refused to elaborate on the report, Phil benched her until she was ready to be a grownup agent again. Steve gave her a stony look, his resolved face that said he wasn't going to let her get away with that. The joke was on Steve, though; Darcy couldn't bring herself to look at him long enough to feel even vaguely impressed by the stony face.

Tony was more cagey. He gave her a look that said he knew she wasn't telling the whole truth, but he knew her better than Steve or Phil. He knew how to pick and pry. He made a whole slew of leading comments about her change in hairstyle, the curious remains of her destroyed clothes, and how she was missing from the security footage for eight seconds.

Tony knew. Or suspected. Nobody else seemed to believe it, who would? It was a crazy idea. Hell, she hadn't even believed it for most of a day. But Darcy was proud of him. Of course he'd figure it out. And, away from the others, she promised him the whole story, she just needed a little more time to sort it out in her head. He accepted that, but then he hit the flipping roof when she told him she needed to go to D.C. for the day. He shouted and paced and insisted on going with her, but she countered with wheedling and begging, and gave him puppy eyes. He crumbled. She knew him, too.

There was one more thing she had to do before she left New York. Peggy was in a very nice, very expensive, _very_ secure nursing home. There was no doubt the staff would turn her away at the door, and even though she was doing better, she still felt shaky enough in her own mind that she didn't think she was up to manipulating her way in. Also, she wasn't Steve Rogers who could just smile and say please and have everybody falling all over themselves to get him whatever he wanted. No, she needed an in.

Darcy and Sharon Carter had met exactly twice. Once when they were kids, and once the previous winter in D.C. They were both giving their testimony on SHIELD's collapse to the intelligence committees on the same day. They met in a hallway, both women pausing at a vague sense of familiarity. It took them a while to place each other. Well, Darcy remembered first, but she prompted Sharon's memory of a summer's evening years before. They'd talked for a few minutes, made some comments about getting lunch or dinner some day, and then Sharon was called to her hearing, and Darcy was out the door on her way back to New York.

So, they weren't particularly close. But Sharon knew who Darcy was. Knew who she _really_ was. When Darcy called, saying that she had to make good on a family promise, Sharon only hesitated for a second or two before promising Darcy she'd call the nursing home and add her to the visitor's list.

Sharon came through for her, and the nursing home staff let Darcy in with only some mild grumbling about visiting hours for non-family. Darcy smiled and assured them Peggy was as good as family. That didn't really count, but they had Sharon's okay, so they led her to Peggy's room. The walk became a series of lectures; 'don't push too hard', 'don't get impatient', 'don't be surprised if she doesn't remember something', 'don't give her whiskey'. Each step was one closer to a reality she wanted to back away from and pretend didn't exist. But, she'd made a promise. God, let Peggy remember.

The room was bright and homey, the side tables covered in pictures of a rich, well-lived and loved life. The window was open to a garden outside, a fragrant summer breeze wafting in, driving away the bitter smells of antiseptic and medicine.

Darcy sat down on the chair next to the bed, and stared at the blanket. She couldn't raise her eyes. She'd glanced briefly at Peggy as she walked in, and the tangled swirl of experience in her mind clarified with painful suddenness. All those memories, three and a half months of them, one-hundred and elven days, where suddenly vivid and sharp.

In her reckoning of days, it was only a month and a half ago that Peggy was kicking Hydra goons in the nuts and shooting up a warehouse. Now she was so frail and small. Washed out, white like the sheets and blankets tucked around her. How did Steve keep doing this? God. Well, clearly, he was a stronger person than she was.

Time caught up to them all, but seeing it so abruptly was almost too much; Darcy felt a gnawing twinge in her chest, a gasping void where all those years had been stolen away. Peggy got to live them, of course, but Darcy felt the loss of years that weren't even hers. Now she knew exactly what she'd done to Steve. At least she got to come home to a world she understood, to friends and family unchanged in the eight seconds she was missing; Steve didn't.

"Do I know you?" Peggy's voice, still accented, was soft and reedy.

Darcy looked up and forced a smile, leaning towards the woman. "Hi, Peggy. Long time, no see, huh?"

"Darcy? You're home?" Peggy smiled back and held out a twig-thin hand. Darcy took it in her own. "You took your time."

"Oh, you know us Starks, we get distracted," she said lightly, past that aching in her chest. But the relief was almost as profound as the pain. Peggy knew her and remembered.

With a light laugh, barely more than a soft, rattling breath, Peggy squeezed her hand. "I’ve been waiting. Howard never knew if you got back. I’ll let him know, shall I?"

"Sure."

"You almost left it too late," Peggy chastised.

"Hey, now," Darcy protested with a frown.

"Oh, tosh," Peggy flicked a finger. "I’m bloody old."

Darcy sniffed dismissively and said, "You’re aged to perfection."

Peggy laughed again, wheezing a little, then it turned into a coughing fit and Darcy lurched to her feet to help raise the head of the bed and tuck a pillow behind her head. She fidgeted, not sure what to do, until Peggy’s fit subsided.

"Sit down," Peggy ordered, catching her breath. "Don't hover."

"Yes, ma'am."

Peggy was quiet for a long minute, and Darcy thought maybe she'd fallen back asleep, but then she said, "You knew Steve was alive, didn't you?"

Darcy bowed her head under the crush of guilt and closed her eyes. "I did. I'm sorry."

"My dear," Peggy sighed, "don't be sorry. He visits. It's a wonderful blessing to have him back."

Darcy couldn't say anything, only managing a short nod in response.

"Do you know him?"

"He's a friend," Darcy told her quietly. Would he still be a friend after she told him she left him?

"Good. He's always needed looking after. Gets himself into all sorts of trouble."

Darcy laughed a little. "He really does."

"You'll take care of him?"

"As much as I can," Darcy promised. She owed them both that much. And more, probably, but that was the only way she could repay them for the choice she'd made.

"Thank you." Peggy let out a long breath, her frail body seeming almost to collapse with it. "How long have you been home? Did you see your soldier?"

"About a week," Darcy told her. "The trip was harder this time. It took longer to get back on my feet."

Peggy frowned, trying to remember. "You were sick last time, weren't you?"

"That's right," Darcy said. "I don't like time travel."

"Not all horrible, I hope," Peggy said with a smile.

"No, not all horrible," Darcy said, forcing a half-smile onto her own lips.

"And Sgt. Barnes?" Peggy asked. "I looked for him, all these years. We'd get whispers and then nothing."

"They'd put him into cryogenic suspension between missions," Darcy said. "There was nothing to find."

"Did you tell me that before?" she asked, her lips pursing and brow furrowing in frustration at her failing her memory.

Darcy took her hand again, squeezing gently. "It was a long time ago, Peg."

"I kept his name out of it," Peggy continued. "He was only ever the Winter Soldier."

"Thank you."

"You promised me he'd come home. Did you tell him? Did you tell him I'm sorry?"

"Not yet. I haven't …" She looked back down until Peggy drew her hand away and tapped a finger on Darcy's cheek and she was forced to meet the other woman's eyes. "I haven't talked to him yet. Clint told me he's okay. I'll see him when I get home."

"Darcy," she said on a long breath, her eyes closing. "Oh lord, as dramatic as Steve. Everything on his shoulders. Don't you start."

"It's so hard, Peggy," Darcy said, pain knotting in her throat. "It's harder than the first time. There's _so much stuff_ in my head."

"Oh, my darling," Peggy murmured, and Darcy didn't try to stop the tears. "Darling girl. All those secrets you kept. And I know why you did. So strong and brave."

"I don't feel like either." Darcy wiped her wrist across her nose and pressed her lips together.

"Strength and bravery are not things you feel. They're in the things you do, however difficult they may be."

"And how do I tell Steve?" Darcy asked, looking up at Peggy, pleading. "How do I tell him I left him?"

"You stand up straight, you look him in the eye, and you tell him," Peggy said, her endless steel and resolve cutting through the wavering tones of age. "Be honest with him, but most importantly be honest with yourself."

Darcy swallowed back her tears and braced an elbow on Peggy's bed to wipe her eyes. "Okay."

"Over on the bureau there," Peggy said, pointing with a shaking hand. "The lacquered box. Do you see it? Bring it here while I remember."

Darcy did as she requested, picking up the large, golden Japanese box, its sides decorated in a million tiny blossoms and the top a rocky coast with bowing pines. She brought it back to Peggy, settling it on the other woman's lap.

"Daniel gave this to me, oh forever ago," she said with a smile and lifted the lid.

"I'm glad I got to know him," Darcy mused. Daniel Sousa had passed away before she met Peggy; she'd only known him through a bare handful of stories.

Peggy's eyes lit with amusement. "Oh, you knew that all along, too. Didn't you?"

Darcy just smiled back, unrepentant about that secret, at least.

"Sly girl." Peggy sighed a little laugh and turned back to the box. It was full of letters and keepsakes, the tiny treasures of a long life. "Help me with this. At the bottom, there's a catch."

Darcy leaned over the box as Peggy pulled things out of the way. "False bottom? How shifty of you."

"What spy doesn't like a good secret compartment?"

Darcy found the catch with her fingernail and pulled up the thin bit of wood. Underneath were a couple smaller items and a brown leather journal.

"The book," Peggy told her. "Take it."

That bit of effort seemed to exhaust Peggy; her head dropped back on her pillow and she drew in a stuttering breath. Darcy plucked the book out, and moved the box off to the side, out of the way. Then she smoothed her finger along the journal's spine and waited.

"It's yours," Peggy said after a moment. "My report of your visit."

"Oh." Darcy blinked at that and looked down at the book. "Oh, wow. I didn't even think about that."

Peggy laughed weakly. "The very first SHIELD report, I suppose. An antique."

"Phil will be so jealous," Darcy laughed a little with her. "When, you know, he stops being mad at me for _my_ report."

"Phil?"

"Phil Coulson," Darcy said. "He's the Director now."

"Coulson," Peggy murmured, as though the name was both strange and familiar.

Darcy let it go, and only explained, "He recruited me. He's a good guy."

Peggy hummed. "We left you a rotten agency. They think I don't know, but Sharon tells me these things."

"We'll make it right."

Weakly shaking her head, Peggy looked pained as she said, "You shouldn't have to."

Darcy smiled and touched the back of Peggy's hand. "I never knew what I wanted to do with my life, Peggy. Until SHIELD. Now, I know. And I was there, wasn't I? With you and Howard, right at the beginning of it all. I figure that makes it my responsibility as much as it was ever yours or Howard's. I'll make it right."

"There's that strength."

Darcy rolled her eyes and mumbled, "Yeah, I guess. Besides, I've always believed fire is cleansing."

"Oh, lord, don't make me laugh again," Peggy said with a wheeze.

"Sorry," Darcy apologized, reaching out, placing a hand on Peggy's shoulder to steady her.

It was a full minute before Peggy spoke again. "Sgt. Barnes, did he come with you?"

"Not today, Peggy," Darcy told her, gentle and patient. A sharp lance of pain stabbed through her heart as Peggy forgot their earlier talk of the man.

"Did you tell him I'm sorry?"

Leaning forward, Darcy took the other woman's hand once more, and solemnly pledged, "I swear to you I will."

"And will you bring him?"

Darcy felt her lips tremble but she pressed them together and nodded. "I'll try."

"You both watch out for Steve."

"We will."

Peggy turned her head on her pillow and smiled at Darcy. "You look so like Howard. It's as though he's here with me again. He was so proud of you."

"I know."

"He left you something. Lord only knows what. He wouldn't tell me."

Darcy snorted and rolled her eyes. "Oh boy."

"Tsk," Peggy chastised. "Be thankful."

"I am, Peggy," Darcy said contritely. "I really am."

"Tell your father," Peggy ordered next.

"I will," Darcy agreed again. "We have a deal to be honest with each other."

"Good. He was always a sweet boy. Oh such trouble, but sweet."

Darcy laughed again, but it felt lighter. "He really is."

Peggy licked her lips and closed her eyes. "It's your time now. I'm honored to turn it over to you. I'm sorry for the weight, but you're strong enough."

Her throat tightened again. This felt like the real good-bye, not that day in 1946, but this one right here, right now. Who knew how much longer they'd all have Peggy. "Thank you for everything, Peggy."

"Be bold, don't lose that. This world needs bold women."

"I've got some pretty big shoes to fill."

"You'll do it," Peggy told her firmly. "You and Sharon. Do you know Sharon?"

"We've met," Darcy said simply. "She helped me come see you."

"I'm glad. You may need each other."

"Okay."

"Tell Clint to come see me."

Clint? Darcy frowned but nodded. "Of course."

"Tell him," Peggy said. "Tell him we knew each other. Tell him about that time. He'll understand."

"Wait," Darcy said, holding up a hand, confused. "We're talking about Clint _Barton_ , right?"

Peggy chuckled and gave her a look of fond affection. "We are. Tell him."

Darcy blinked and shrugged. "Okay, I will."

"And bring Sgt. Barnes."

"I'll do my best," she said again. It wasn't entirely smart to bring Bucky back to D.C., but she also wasn't sure if he was up for this visit. She was barely up for this visit. "I promise you, Peggy, he doesn't blame you."

"You tell him I'm sorry."

"Oh, Peggy," Darcy sighed.

"I looked for him," she said, her eyes slipping away from Darcy's, going distant. "I tried."

Sorrow washed over her like a warm, heavy weight. There was no pain in it, just weary sadness. There were a lot of reasons Darcy wished they hadn't met the Winter Soldier, but asking Peggy to bear that through the years was the one that she regretted the most. "I know you did."

"Don't miss your dance with your soldier. Regrets collect like dust, don't add to them," Peggy said, and despite sorrow's weight Darcy laughed.

"Any more orders, Director?" She asked with a smirk.

"No, I think that should do it for now." Peggy grasped Darcy's hand again. "Oh, tell your father I haven't seen him in an age. That's unacceptable."

"It is," Darcy agreed. "The nerve of that guy."

"I'm so glad you have each other."

"So am I, Peggy. I'm grateful every day," Darcy told her sincerely.

Peggy's eyes slipped shut and Darcy sighed. She gave the older woman's hand one more gentle squeeze and stood. "Sleep well, Peggy."

Peggy stirred, though, and a few more words slipped past her lips, "Come back some day?"

Darcy leaned down and kissed her pale cheek. "I promise."

When she left the nursing home and drove back to the airport, Darcy didn't exactly feel unburdened, but she felt steadier. Peggy remembered her, which was all she really hoped for. But, then Peggy had forgiven her for keeping Steve a secret, and that took so much sting out of her guilt she felt like she could breathe again. It wasn't all gone. And the grief of time wasn't entirely eased, but even elderly and frail, her memory failing, Peggy was still there. Still Peggy. Still stronger and bolder than all of them.

Darcy had a lot to think through, so many pieces to fit back together, and a hell of a lot of conversations she'd have to get through, apparently. She didn't dare disobey Director Carter. Clint, though? Really? No, wait, wait, Peggy hadn't really waited all those years to meet him, had she? They joked about it once, but … really? Though, if anybody would do it, it was Peggy. Well, of all the conversations she was going to have, that one might actually be fun.

Across the river she could just see the edge of the crater where the Triskelion stood. It was a construction site now. She had no idea what the government planned to do with the space. But, the scaffolding and stories-deep hole were a vivid reminder of the task ahead of her. She promised Peggy she'd fix it, she gave her word. It was time to get back to work.

**Works inspired by this one:**

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